Power Outage, My Only Living Relative

The arms of wind and rain
start their bear hug
It feels good to be held
by something
I watch the block disappear
I think of calling you
so it’s not just my breath
fogging up windows
I want to be pressed against the wall
immobilized except
for my mouth
I am a true Romantic
These things are entirely lost
via text message
I wait quietly
The building backfires again
goes entirely still
How would Hitchcock
handle this
A whispered endearment
pistol strapped to the thigh
the night uncrossing its legs
under the table
Somewhere in the back room
a phone rings